


To Hell with Propriety, For Now and Forevermore

by peachcitt



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, F/M, Halloween, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot, Self-Indulgent, Witches, and idk i like it maybe you would too, it's a rather long one-shot tbh, it's halloween-esque, it's kind renaissance/victorian-esque as well, uhh, were-cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 08:37:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21250532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachcitt/pseuds/peachcitt
Summary: The forest was dark, but it wasn’t scary. Not like it had been two nights ago when he’d first wandered through it.Maybe it wasn’t scary because he knew where he was going.It was like the forest knew, opening up its clenched teeth to let him scamper through its dark throat, leading him to its heart - the cottage, glowing and warm.oradrien is trapped in a cage made of performance and propriety. as the hallow's festival approaches, he finds himself befriending a benevolent witch and breaking free from his cage one night at a time.





	To Hell with Propriety, For Now and Forevermore

**Author's Note:**

> happy halloween!
> 
> (if it's not halloween at the time you are reading this or if you don't celebrate halloween, happy long one-shot time!)
> 
> enjoy :)

_ T _ _ here’s no such thing as benevolent witches. _

That’s what Adrien has been taught all his life, and it was what he tried to remind himself now, when he was frozen and terrified in a body that wasn’t his.

_ There’s no such thing as benevolent witches. _

She was humming, her saturated red skirts tied in a knot by her knees, revealing her black stockings and black workman’s boots. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, and she stood up straight, tucking it behind her ear as she read from an ink and tea-stained piece of parchment in her hands.

“Dog’s tongue is off the list,” she said to herself, taking out a piece of charcoal from a pouch hanging at her hip and making a line on the parchment. “Now all that’s left is wolfsbane and pine’s blood,” she continued, tucking the charcoal and parchment back into her pouch and brushing off her charcoal-covered fingers. “Easy enough.”

The witch finished rubbing her hands off on her skirts, leaving streaks of black on the beautiful red. She turned then, and her eyes caught on Adrien’s small form.

_ There’s no such thing as benevolent witches. _

“Well, hello there,” she said, tilting her head on him. “What’s a pretty little  _ chat noir  _ doing in the forest so late?”

He didn’t answer, heart pounding fast.

She crouched down, offering a pale, gentle hand to him. 

“Are you lost?”

_ There’s no such thing as benevolent witches. _

Her smile, painted red, was warm. Her eyes, bright blue, were kind. “I can help you home, if you’d like,” she said, voice quiet.

He did like. He needed to go back home - he was stupid to leave in this condition in the first place.

_ But there was no such thing as… _

She sighed, standing up straight. Adrien jumped back, ears flattening against his head. She held her hands up, shaking her head. “Don’t worry,  _ chaton.  _ I’m not going to take you. But you’re welcome to follow me.”

Follow her? Why would he follow a witch?

Because he needed to find a way out of the forest.

He trotted after the bright red figure of the witch that had already begun walking again. She seemed to know that he was following her - he saw her red lips turn up in a small smile - but she didn’t say anything. He followed her as she hummed through the wood, bright eyes flicking over the green around them.

“Ah, there you are,” she said, stopping by a cluster of bright purple flowers. “Wolfsbane is off the list,” she said gathering a few of the purple flowers in her pale hands and gently placing them in her pouch. “All that’s left is pine’s blood - easiest for last.”

Adrien wasn’t sure if she always talked to herself like this or if she was doing it for his benefit. He wondered why she didn’t seem scary.

She went over to the nearest pine tree, pulling a small knife out from somewhere in the folds of her skirts and sticking the sharp end of the knife into the bark of the pine tree. She pulled out a small vial from her pouch and uncorked it with her teeth, digging the knife in a little deeper until a thick brown liquid dribbled out from the wound in the bark.

“Pine’s blood,” she said from behind the cork, holding up the vial to the brown liquid and filling it to the brim. When it was full, she took the knife from the tree, wiping it on her skirts before stashing it back in the same hidden pocket as before. She took the cork out from between her teeth, bringing the vial up to her lips and taking a small sip of the thick liquid. Corking the vial and placing it in her pouch, she leaned down, pressing her red lips to the wound in the bark.

Adrien watched in wonder as the wound closed, healed by her kiss.

He nearly had to run to catch up to her once he’d gotten over his shock. The witch was following some sort of trail he couldn’t see, feet sure as she ticked things off her fingers. “Wolfsbane, pine’s blood, dog’s tongue, and eye of newt,” she said softly to herself, the strange words nearly sung into the darkness of the night. “Did I need frog toes?” she asked, stopping short in tracks so abruptly that Adrien nearly ran into her. “No, I don’t. I got those last night.”

She continued on, and then Adrien could see the faint warm light of a nearby cottage and the nonexistent path they were following started to become a little more existent. “Almost there,” she said - to herself or Adrien, he wasn’t sure.

The cottage was nestled in a small clearing, slouching and homely. It seemed to look kindly at Adrien from it’s heavy-lidded windows, and the gentle night breeze breathed life into its wood. When they reached the front of the cottage, Adrien saw another path that led into the forest, lighted on each side with warm iron lamps. He wondered if that way led to town.

But he didn’t want to go that way alone, not when he didn’t know for sure where it led. He followed the witch into the cottage.

Inside, Adrien found the place cluttered. Not uncomfortably so, just cluttered enough for him to know that the witch spent her time there. There were no jugs of human eyeballs or decapitated heads, like he’d been led to believe witches houses were full of - only preserve pots of various jellies and pickled fruits and vegetables. 

The witch untied the pouch from her waist, placing it on a countertop by the stove and then going over to the fireplace. Adrien watched her blow on her fingers before snapping them clearly. With the sound of the snap came the fire bursting to life. He shrunk away from the fireplace, away from her.

“I would’ve used a match,” she said, turning toward him, the fire making a halo around her, “but I ran out of those ages ago. Sorry,  _ chatton.” _

Adrien said nothing. She smiled.

Continuing with her business, the witch unpacked her pouch, putting away the contents of clinking vials and crumbling leaves and flowers in various drawers and cabinets and jars. And then she started to make something - and judging by the smell, it was something to eat. Adrien’s stomach grumbled. He licked his lips.

“Hungry?” she asked. Adrien didn’t meet her twinkling eyes, looking toward the door. He’d heard stories of witches who fattened up their prey before eating them up. She didn’t seem like she was eager to eat him, but he was still wary. 

When the food was ready - a glazed meat, maybe pheasant, served with pickled plums and bread with apricot jelly - the witch made a plate for herself and then put some of the meat in a small wooden dish. She placed the little bowl down on the floor near Adrien before retreating to her seat at the wobbly kitchen table. 

Adrien stared at the meat, unsure.

The witch took a bite of her own, chewing and swallowing rather purposefully. “I didn’t put anything strange in it,” she assured, gesturing to his dish. “You can eat.”

He looked down at the dish on the floor. He looked up at the chair sitting opposite of the witch. He jumped up onto the chair, peering over at her surprised face. He blinked at her. She started to laugh.

It was a beautiful sound - like tinkling bells and clattering tea cups. Adrien hadn’t known witches could sound so pretty when they laughed. 

“I’m terribly sorry, your noble cat-ness, for assuming you’d eat off the floor,” she said, her voice still full of laughter as she got up from her seat and picked up the wooden dish from the floor, placing it on the table in front of him. “I didn’t realize such fancy cats took walks in the forest so late at night.”

Adrien realized he wanted to smile at her. He took a tentative bite of the meat and then sighed. 

It was delicious.

After he’d eaten, she led the way back outside of the cottage, pointing to the lamp-lit path he’d noticed before. “Follow that path to find town,” she said, and Adrien wondered if she somehow knew he was smarter than the average housecat or if her head was a little scrambled. He hoped it was because she thought he was smart.

She had untied the knot in her skirts, letting them swish around her ankles. He took note of the beautiful red fabric, marred by charcoal stains and rich black patches sewn irregularly around the skirts. He looked up at her, glowing in the warmth of her cottage, her hair spilling over her shoulders and framing her gentle blue eyes and ruby lips.

_ There’s no such thing as benevolent witches. _

What about beautiful witches?

“Do you want me to walk you there?” she asked, mistaking his lack of movement as hesitation.

Adrien gave her one last look over before shaking his head, walking toward the lamp-lit path with his soft, black feet.

“Goodbye,  _ petit chat noir,”  _ she called from her porch. “Please do your best not to get lost in the forest again.”

Her cottage disappeared behind him the farther he went. He wondered if he’d ever be able to find it again. He wondered why he’d ever  _ want  _ to find it again.

After all, there’s no such thing as benevolent witches.

Right?

  
  


\---

  
  


Adrien opened up his door, rubbing his eyes. There was a small squeak and the sounds of things tumbling to the floor, and Adrien opened his eyes to find one of the servant girls sprawled out in front of him, a plate of what looked like various sweets scattered around her.

She stared up at him, blue eyes wide and fearful.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Adrien said, offering his hand out for her to take. Perhaps it hadn’t been his fault, but whatever the case, he was standing and she was on the ground. It would be rude of him to  _ not  _ offer a hand. 

Saying nothing, she took his hand, keeping her head bowed. She adjusted the cloth draped over her nose and mouth, and Adrien thought he saw a flash of her cheeks, bright red. She brushed her hands off on her apron, and Adrien frowned.

“Are you from the kitchens?” he asked, and she nodded, her bright eyes flicking up at him before going back to her boots. “I don’t recall asking for anything this morning.” He waited for her to respond and then mentally kicked himself. It was frowned upon for the servants to talk to him.

“Let me help you clean this up,” he said, bending down to pile some of the sweets - little tea cookies and a small slice of cake - back onto the platter she’d brought them on. She bent down so quickly that her head cracked against his, and he fell back, laughing.

When he managed to look at her, she had a horrified look in her eyes, her hand on her forehead.

“It’s alright,” he soothed, feeling as if he was in the presence of a flighty bird. “It didn’t hurt that much.” He reached out again to continue picking up the sweets, but her hand, small and rough, grabbed his. He looked up at her, raising his eyebrows. 

She shook her head vigorously.

“It’s not very gentlemanly for me to not help you,” he said, and he saw her think about that for a moment, her eyes flicking up to the high ceiling and her head tilting to the side. And then she looked back at him, shaking her head again. 

Not wanting to upset her, he sat back, watching her pick up the rest of the sweets with her dainty fingers. The bottom half of her face was obscured by the cloth that his father made all the servants wear, but Adrien could tell she was pretty. She had blue eyes and dark hair - a combination that stood out on her pale skin. Her hair was neatly braided and pinned back, save for a neatly trimmed fringe that hung over her forehead.

“What’s your name?” he asked as she wiped her fingers of the frosting from the cake on her apron. She looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “I know I’m asking you to break the rules my father has,” he said, putting his hands up, “but I normally recognize all the people that work here. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen you.”

Her shoulders drew up, she looked around, as if checking to see if anyone was watching to report her for inappropriate behavior.

“I’m only asking for your name,” Adrien said. “I promise that I won’t let you get in trouble for it.”

She looked back to him, and the fearful look in her eyes seemed to soften. “Marinette,” she said, her voice quiet, like a whisper of wind chimes.

“It’s nice to meet you, Marinette,” he said, and her eyes stared at him for a moment before she looked back down at the floor. “I’m Adrien.”

She snorted - a quiet sound, barely there. But there all the same. 

“I knew that,” she said, humor creeping into her voice as she looked back up at him, her eyes smiling.

“I figured it would be impolite for me not to introduce myself properly.” Her eyes smiled at him warmly, and Adrien liked that she wasn’t as scared of him anymore. “Marinette, I hope I’m not overstepping the rules too much, but may I ask what you’re doing outside my door?”

She stood then, and Adrien stood with her, watching her hold the unorganized platter of tainted sweets tightly in her hands. “Are you sure I won’t get in trouble for talking to you?”

“I’m sure of it.”

Taking a deep breath, Marinette brushed her bangs to the side. “My mother thought you might like sweets after last night. She thought it might help you get over your night sickness.”

“That’s very sweet of her,” Adrien said, and they both looked sadly down at the tray of sweets that would be very improper for Adrien to eat now, given that they had just been on the floor. “Your mother is...?”

“Sabine,” Marinette replied, and Adrien brightened.

“You’re Sabine and Tom’s daughter?” he asked, and she nodded, a little taken aback by his surprise. “I’m sorry, it’s only that the sweets that your parents make are always the best - that and their bread, of course. I didn’t know their daughter was working here as well.”

“I finished schooling in the spring,” she said, her shoulders drawing up. “I’m starting here to learn the trade from my parents.”

“With your lineage, I’m sure you’ll do fantastically,” he said, and her shoulders went up a little higher. He got the feeling that if he could see all of her face, he’d see that her cheeks were red.

“I-” Marinette started and then stopped, ducking her head and pulling the cloth covering her face a little farther up the bridge of her nose. “You’re a lot nicer than I thought you’d be.”

Adrien couldn’t help but laugh. “Thank you, I think.”

She looked back up at him, her bright blue eyes soft and gentle. “I’m truly sorry I couldn’t give you sweets to help cure your night sickness.”

He smiled, his heart warming. “That’s quite alright. Tell your mother I thanked her for her thoughts, and thank you for brightening my morning.” She didn’t say anything, but she did take in a rather surprised breath, like what he’d said was strange. “I must be off now, Marinette. But it was very nice to make your acquaintance.”

“Ah, of course, Mister Agreste,” she said, bowing rather deeply.

“You can call me just Adrien if you’d like,” he said, and she straightened, tilting her head to the side.

“I don’t think I will, Mister Agreste,” she said, and she bowed again before darting off down the hallway, no doubt returning to the kitchens.

Adrien stood there, dumbstruck. Normally when he encouraged servants to call him by his first name, he was met with enthusiastic agreement or understandable hesitation. He had never really been denied outright before. He wondered if he’d accidentally done something to offend Marinette in any way. He hoped not.

Taking a deep breath, he continued on his way, rethinking his conversation with Marinette. Perhaps he was too friendly and she found it inappropriate - and maybe it  _ was  _ a little inappropriate. He had no bad intentions or anything of the sort - he’d just wanted to make sure she didn’t feel scared with him, especially since she’d looked so afraid when he’d first opened the door to his room.

When he was standing in front of his father’s study, he forced himself to stop thinking of Marinette and the possibility of being hated. He fixed his expression into a neat impassiveness and steadied his breathing before knocking lightly on the door. 

“Enter,” came his father’s voice from the inside, and Adrien opened the door.

It was dark in the room despite the early hour - his father had his heavy and luxurious curtains drawn. His study lamp was lit, though, and it cast eerie shadows over his father’s gaunt face. When his father saw it was him, he stood, drawing back the curtains and letting the morning sun flood over the room, revealing dancing dust motes in the air.

Adrien watched his father open up the window, letting in the crisp fall morning air and looking back at Adrien with squinted eyes. He knew it was because his father believed that by somehow just being in contact with the sun and the day air, his night sickness would be cured. And so he was looking at Adrien now, hoping to see something changed since the day before, like this moment of sunshine would cure him of the curse.

“Good morning, Father,” Adrien greeted, and his father nodded, sitting back down in his desk chair. He looked far less intimidating now with the daylight brightening the room. He looked a little more tired, a little more human.

“Did it happen again last night?” he asked, and Adrien looked away. His father pursed his lips, tapping lightly on the desk. “You didn’t leave your room?”

Adrien thought of the night before, of getting lost in the forest. Of being found by the beautiful red witch. 

“No,” he lied.

“That’s good,” his father said, nodding. “No one can know of the true nature of your sickness.”

“I know, Father.”

“I’m searching for a cure. I won’t stop until I’m successful,” he reminded, and Adrien nodded.

“I know, Father,” he said, a little more gently this time. Ever since his night sickness had started at the start of the fall months, his father had worked twice as hard as he normally did - keeping his cloth and dye business running as smoothly as usual while also looking into possible cures for the curse. Adrien never knew the specifics - his father refused to tell him until he was successful - but he suspected it was grueling work judging by how tired his father seemed as of late.

Sighing, his father looked down at the stack of work on his desk. “You are dismissed, Adrien. Ask Nathalie for your appointments today.”

“Yes, Father,” Adrien said, bowing before he left.

That night when the sickness overcame him, he stayed in his room - guilty even as curiosity pulled him toward the forest.

  
  


\---

  
  


The night after, Adrien couldn’t help but leave his room. He’d learned during the day that his father was planning a ball - a dance to introduce him to all the noble ladies and gentleman eligible for marriage. He was of marrying age, after all.

But the timing of it was all wrong. He was still getting his night sickness each night, and he didn’t feel like explaining the sickness to someone who wouldn’t understand. And he didn’t like parties, not really.

Before the sickness took him, he opened up the window, feeling the cool breeze of the night caress his heated cheeks before the pain started. 

Every muscle, bone, and thought ached - every movement and breath tearing through him. He clenched his jaw as his body changed, as his skin and teeth and nails were made into something else.

When he came to, he was small and soft. He jumped onto the windowsill, looking back into his room, at the pillows he’d halfheartedly stuffed underneath his blankets in case someone thought to check in on him. And then he leaped onto a tree branch reaching for his room, not looking back again.

He jumped down to the soft earth, his paws making the leaves crackle. A guard patrolling the grounds saw him, smiling and bending down to reach his hand out to him, clicking his tongue as if to coax him closer. 

Adrien tilted his head at the guard, staring at him for a moment. The guard must’ve been around his age, his skin dark and his hazel-colored eyes kind. He wondered what his father would think of a guard breaking character for a small cat. He trotted toward the kind-eyed guard, rubbing his outstretched hand before running into the forest.

He heard the guard call out after him, but he kept on running, a thrill running through his fur. The guard wouldn’t chase after him, not when he was like this. He was free to leave the house, to not perform the exhausting character of himself.

The forest was dark, but it wasn’t scary. Not like it had been two nights ago when he’d first wandered through it.

Maybe it wasn’t scary because he knew where he was going.

It was like the forest knew, opening up its clenched teeth to let him scamper through its dark throat, leading him to its heart - the cottage, glowing and warm. 

As Adrien set his eyes on it, feet first touching the edge of the clearing, he could almost see it pulsing, the warm glow beating with a steady rhythm that flowed out into the dark green and up into the moonless sky. 

He breathed in the beating air, chest tight as he stared up at the empty place the moon normally inhabited. When he was young, before his mother had passed, he remembered a story she’d whispered to him on nights when the dark was so consuming he feared it would eat him up. “This is the time before knowing,” she would tell him, wrapping her golden arms around him as he pressed his face into her rose and honey-scented hair. “This is the time of secrets. But the moon never fails to come back, and she joins the stars in shedding light on all.”

_ This is the time of secrets. _

He stared at the cottage, warm and inviting. He could see the shape of the red witch moving behind the kind-eyed windows; he could hear her singing to herself, alone and content.

No one but him would know that he came here again.

_ This is the time of secrets. _

He approached the cottage hesitantly, padding softly along the fallen leaves and damp moss so that he was sure she wouldn’t hear him come. A twig snapped behind him, and he ducked underneath the porch stairway, peeking out to see a homely-looking old woman limp toward the cottage, a lamp held in one shaking hand, a cane in the other. 

Inside, the red witch stopped singing, and he heard the door to the cottage open, the creak of footsteps above him.

“Oh, Marguerite,” he heard the witch say as the old woman hobbled up the stairs, “you didn’t have to walk all the way here. I told you I was going to town tomorrow night, right?” 

“You did, Ms. Ladybug,” the old woman, Marguerite, said, now above where Adrien was hunched. “But I like the walk. It keeps me young.”

The wood creaked more, and Adrien assumed they were going inside. He darted out from underneath the stairs and into the cottage before the door closed, making sure to steer clear of the feet of both the witch and Marguerite. He stuck to the small shadows created by the crackling fire, moving around the edge of the cottage until he was underneath the kitchen table. He didn’t want the witch to know he was here; not yet. He wanted to know why the old woman had come.

“I have some chicken stew nearly ready,” the witch said, her boot-clad feet moving over to the fireplace. “Would you like some?”

Marguerite sat down at the kitchen table with a sigh, resting her cane across her lap. “That sounds wonderful. It’s getting so chilly at nights now.” Adrien tentatively stepped toward Marguerite, sniffing her clogs and the edges of her burnt orange skirts. The clogs smelled like damp moss and the forest, the dress like warm spice and the village.

“We’re entering winter’s prelude now, Maggie,” the witch said, the affectionate nickname gentle on the warm air. “I’m sure after the Hallow’s Festival the air will be even colder.”

There was the clattering of dishes - perhaps the witch was readying the soup for Marguerite now - and Adrien just began to smell the rich, nostalgic scent of the stew. He wanted some.

But he still didn’t know why Marguerite was there with the witch. 

For all he knew, Marguerite the sweet-seeming old lady was a fellow witch, and the two were brewing a plan on how to capture and kill a noble gentleman who had a night sickness that turned him into a black housecat. No matter how nice the witch had seemed to him the first time he’d met her, he needed to wait. Even if the stew smelled delicious.

There was the quiet clanking of a spoon against a bowl from Marguerite’s side of the table, and then the witch spoke again. “How’s you leg tonight, Maggie?”

“The pain comes and goes,” Marguerite said, and Adrien saw her stretch out her leg, one knobbed hand flexing against her knee. “But I know the salve you gave me last time is wearing off.”

“I was going to make it tonight for when I saw you tomorrow, so it’s not ready yet,” the witch replied, and Adrien heard the soft jostling of the cabinets and drawers. “But I’m sure I can make it quickly now so you’re not in pain on your way back.”

A salve for an injured leg.

“You don’t have to rush, dearie,” Marguerite said. “I’ll live until tomorrow.”

“But it would so trouble me to think of you walking back tonight in pain,” the witch said, her gentle voice full of emotion that Adrien knew in his bones was real.

_ There’s no such thing as benevolent witches. _

“Well, if you insist,” Marguerite said, and Adrien heard the witch sigh a breath of genuine relief, heard the clamoring at the cabinets and drawers resume. “Honestly, Ms. Ladybug. I don’t know what the people of this town would do without you.”

“They would live,” the witch said, “just like they always have. I’m only a tiny thread in the tapestry, Maggie.”

“You’re a thread that has us spoiled up to the jewels like those nobles sitting pretty up on the hill,” Marguerite replied, and Adrien flinched. He knew the people of the village weren’t fond of his family and the other nobles as of late, but it was different hearing it from a villager rather than the mouth of a tutor. “They’ve got all the gold they can hold in their hands, but you’ve shown us the best kind of gold, the only kind of gold that matters.”

“I’m just a witch sharing her wares,” the witch said, and Adrien could hear the shrug in her pretty voice. 

“You’re a saint.”

“Enough of that kind of talk, Maggie,” the witch said, embarrassment creeping into her voice. “I’m just a regular person like everyone else.”

“Fine,” Marguerite relented, “but you have to admit you’re better than those nobles.”

Adrien snuck out from beneath the kitchen table then, wanting to see the witch’s face as she answered. She wasn’t facing him, so he jumped onto the countertop, walking across the counter until he could climb up on the windowsill above the sink where she was washing some herbs. If she was surprised to see him, she didn’t show it.

“I don’t know,” she said, and Adrien couldn’t help but watch her red lips move as she spoke. “Maybe they’re not so bad either. Maybe they’re just regular people, too.”

Over at the kitchen table, Marguerite grunted. “What changed your mind?”

Adrien blinked. A changed mind meant the witch’s opinion on the nobles - and by extension,  _ him  _ \- had been at least a little bit negative.

The witch placed the still-wet herbs in a mortar, drying off her hands on a towel hanging by the windowsill. Her pale cheeks had grown a little red, a few shades lighter than her lips, and Adrien could just make out the soft splatterings of freckles along the bridge of her nose and cheeks. She held out a dainty finger to him, her first acknowledgement of him tonight, and she waited for him to sniff it thoroughly - smelling the earthy and bitter tang of the herbs, maybe a warmer hint of something else - before she pet his head very gently. Her fingers were cold.

“My mind isn’t really  _ changed,  _ per se,” she said, her fingers cold and a little rough with work stroking through his fur. “The nobles are still too rich for their own good, and I still think that they hold on to a good portion of their money which should go to the rest of the people, but…” She trailed off, tilting her head to the side as she thought. Her bright blue eyes drifted away from Adrien, looking out of the window and up at the clusters of stars in the sky, a small and shy smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “They’re people, too.”

“That’s all well and good, but just don’t let them brainwash you,” Marguerite said, and the witch looked down from the stars, her soft smile twisting in a cynical scoff.

“That could never happen, Maggie,” she said, pulling her hand away. “You know how the nobles feel about magic. I’m a criminal to them, and I won’t sacrifice the thing that I love to appease them.” She grabbed the pestle that was resting beside the mortar, and she smashed it down so harshly that Adrien couldn’t help but jump at the stubborn violence of the act. She looked up, offering him a small smile of apology.

Is that what the nobles were to her? To this witch? A group of spoiled rich do-nothings hoarding money and policing her livelihood? Was she right? 

_ There’s no such thing as benevolent witches.  _

While the witch continued to mash up the herbs, Adrien leapt off the windowsill and onto the countertop, peering at the jars she had lined up against the walls. Like Adrien had originally thought the first time he’d visited, the contents of the jars were simply jellies and pickled fruits or vegetables.

“Are your paws clean,  _ chatton?”  _ the witch asked, her back towards him. Adrien paused, looking down at his paws. 

They weren’t the cleanest - he had been walking through the forest, after all.

“I like keeping my counters clean,” the witch said, and she glanced back at him then, her eyes warm and filled with humor. If Adrien could blush in this body, he would’ve. Instead, he jumped off the countertop and onto the chair sitting opposite Marguerite.

For a moment, Marguerite stared at him, as if assessing him. He stared at her back. 

She had the hard lines on her face of a woman who did her own work, but the crow’s feet etched into her weathered skin next to her warm brown eyes suggested a softer interior. She had a shawl wrapped tightly over her shoulders, as if she was cold even here in the surplus of warmth in the cottage, and the collar of her dress was high-necked and proper - the sign of a woman deep in tradition. He wondered what kind of face she’d make if she realized he was one of the nobles she so despised.

“I didn’t know you had gotten yourself a familiar,” Marguerite said, finally looking away from Adrien to the witch, who had apparently finished the salve and was bringing it over to the table.

The witch frowned, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “Familiar?”

“That cat,” Marguerite said, gesturing to Adrien. “Isn’t he your familiar?”

Adrien’s ears flattened against his head, and he scrunched up his nose in disgust.

Letting out a little laugh at Adrien’s reaction, the witch put down the mortar filled with the salve which looked as though she’d added a few other ingredients to the herbs to make it into a paste. “Oh, no,” the witch said, shaking her head and looking fondly over at Adrien, “this little  _ chat noir  _ is his own cat.”

“He’s extremely docile,” Marguerite remarked, and Adrien squinted at her. He didn’t like being talked about like some sort of pet - he got enough of that as it was. 

“I think he is when he wants to be,” the witch said, turning away to rifle through the drawers. She pulled out a roll of bandages, placing them by the mortar of the salve and looking back to Marguerite. “If you’d like, I can help put on the salve.”

“Honestly, dear,” Marguerite said, heaving herself to her feet, “you truly are a gift.” 

The witch shook her head, going over to assist Marguerite in walking towards a door that most likely led to a little room. They both disappeared into the room, and then a moment later, the witch came back, grabbing the mortar and the roll of bandages. She gave Adrien a curious look. He blinked at her.

She smiled, retreating back into the room that she’d led Marguerite to.

A few minutes later, Marguerite walked out of the room unassisted, the witch trailing behind her with what was left of the salve and the roll of bandages. Marguerite left the cottage with a swirl of kisses and hugs for the witch, grabbing her cane from where she’d left it by the kitchen table and heading for the door. She tried to give Adrien a pat on the head, and Adrien thought about letting her, but at the last moment he decided against it, ducking away from the touch of the warm old lady and hiding beneath the table.

“The poor thing must be shy,” he heard Marguerite say as the witch ushered her out.

“Of some things, maybe,” came the witch’s gentle reply, and then the cottage door closed behind them.

Adrien waited under the table until the witch came back inside, letting out a small sigh. Her practical workman’s boots approached the table, but Adrien didn’t back away even as she crouched down, her hair an inky waterfall as she peered under the table to look at him. She tucked her hair behind her ear, tilting her head at him as he walked towards her and past her, jumping onto one of the chairs.

The witch stood up straight, placing her hands on her hips and giving him a strange look. 

“Now what did Maggie say to offend you?” she asked - not scolding, just curious.

Adrien stared at her, saying nothing.

“Why have you come back?” she asked, her voice softer, her arms falling to her sides. “Why have you stayed?”

She was asking some very good questions, questions not even Adrien really knew the answer to. He looked at Marguerite’s abandoned soup bowl, only the smallest pool of broth remaining at the bottom of the bowl.

The witch let out a rather funny-sounding snort, shaking her head. “Of course. You wanted some more food, didn’t you?”

He did.

“Alright,” she said, taking away Marguerite’s bowl and spoon and placing them in the sink to be washed. She took out the bowl she’d let him use the other night he’d come, and then she took out a bowl for herself, ladling soup into both bowls and setting them on the kitchen table. Adrien waited for her to sit down and take her first spoonful of the soup before he started eating.

When he glanced up at her, she had put her spoon down, looking at him curiously. He stopped eating, staring at her back. Her bright red lips twisted up into a smile.

“You’re a very strange cat,  _ chat noir.  _ Do you know that?”

He did.

“But I like your company,” she continued, giving him a rather sweet smile that made his heart flutter. “I do hope you’ll visit me again.”

Adrien had to look away from her then - he couldn’t bare the image of beauty she was or the conflicting ideas racing through his mind. He just wanted to eat more of her delicious soup and bask in the warmth of the heart of the forest before he had to think again. Before he had to be himself again.

  
  


\---

  
  


Preparations for the banquet were in full swing, and his father had decided that it would take place on the night of the Hallow’s Festival in a few weeks’ time. Adrien didn’t think his night sickness would be cured by then, so he wondered how successful the whole ‘pre-courtship’ plan would be if the banquet would have to end before night fell. He didn’t really  _ want  _ it to work, so he didn’t ask.

In the morning, he sat with his father’s assistant, Nathalie, to help put together a guest list. It was perhaps one of the more painfully awkward experiences in Adrien’s life because of the fact that he knew he was expected to choose guests based on his attraction to the young man or lady of the family. Nathalie knew this, too, and she kept giving Adrien looks as he was about to choose. Not bad looks, just  _ looks,  _ and Adrien couldn’t leave the room fast enough when it was over.

In the afternoon, he was expected to sample finger cakes and cookies to choose the best kind for the event. Even before he walked into the dining hall, he knew this experience would be much better - when he opened the door, he could smell the warm baked goods, the cool air tinged with sugar.

Tom and Sabine, the head bakers, where waiting for him when he walked in. Since they were superior servants, they didn’t wear any cloths covering their face, which was not the same for their daughter, who was standing off to the side, eyes cast down to the floor. Adrien very much wished she would look up so he could offer her a smile; he hadn’t seen her since she refused to call him by his first name, and he was still wondering if she disliked him in some way.

“Good afternoon, Mister Adrien,” Sabine said, her smile kind and motherly. 

“Good afternoon,” he replied, nodding to all three of them. Marinette didn’t look up, instead walking over and pulling out a chair for him to sit. He sat, smiling up at her, but she still did not look up him, bowing her head and stepping back.

“That’s our daughter, if you weren’t aware,” Tom said, booming voice dripping with pride. “She’s working under us now, and she’s already a master baker.” Adrien saw Marinette glance at her father, embarrassment clear in her eyes.

“I made her acquaintance a few days ago,” Adrien said, and this was what made Marinette finally look at him. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking from the look in her eyes, so he continued on, smiling at Sabine. “Thank you for sending your gift of sweets with her, by the way. I appreciated it very much.”

Marinette’s eyes narrowed at him just the slightest.

“Well, you know all of the staff here is praying for your recovery,” Sabine said, and Adrien had to force his smile to feel natural.

“Thank you very much.”

They started the sweet tasting then, and of course they were all delicious. Cinnamon crusted tarts and apple-filled mini pies, sugar-dusted pumpkin cookies and honey drizzled cakes - there was nothing Tom, Sabine, and now apparently Marinette could make that didn’t taste heavenly. The challenge of the hour wasn’t finding satisfying sweets for the menu, it was choosing which ones  _ not  _ to include. 

At the end of it all, Adrien was so full of sugar, he wondered if it had made his blood taste sweet. He also wondered if he could skip lunch and take a nap instead.

He shook Tom and Sabine’s hands after the banquet sweet menu had been chosen, and he thanked Marinette for her help. She said nothing, bowing her head and averting her gaze.

After, he didn’t bother asking Nathalie if he could skip lunch; he simply collapsed in his bed, crawling under the comforter and falling into a comfortably warm mid-day nap.

In the evening, he was roused awake by Nathalie telling him he had no business skipping lunch  _ and  _ dinner on the same day. She also gave him a lecture on sleeping the day away and neglecting his studies, and Adrien nodded along groggily while he wiped the sleep out of his eyes. His father was busy, and so he ate dinner alone.

Just before he was about to get ready for the night, he frowned. Although his father had given him free reign on what the desert menu would be like for the banquet, he hadn’t mentioned what the dinner would be. It was too late to ask his father now, but…

Adrien looked out his window. The little sliver of the moon wasn’t  _ too  _ high up in the sky, and if he squinted, he could still make out the last traces of sunset above the treetops of the forest. He had some time before the curse took him, and he knew sometimes kitchen employees stayed late to prepare for the next day.

It wouldn’t hurt to check.

The walk down to the kitchen was a peaceful one - his father insisted that all the guards stayed outside during the night, and so the hallways were empty and quiet, perfect for Adrien to walk alone in wearing his night clothes and a pair of thick socks.

A while ago, Adrien decided that night was his favorite time of day. It used to be mornings, what with happy breakfasts and his mother’s soft ‘good morning’s, but now mornings were empty and filled with the looming imminence of the day. Night was when Adrien felt the most peaceful - he could walk around the house bothered with no looming responsibilities or requirements. He didn’t have to be his father’s perfect son, and he didn’t have to the perfect noble gentleman. He could just be Adrien.

The lights in the kitchens were still on, which he took as a good sign. When he walked in, he found it entirely empty except for a lone figure by the sink, facing away from him. Judging by the neat, dark pinned-up braids, it was Marinette, humming to herself as she dried off the dishes. She had her skirts knotted up by her knees, presumably for mobility, and Adrien saw her work boot-clad feet tapping along to the song she was humming, her hips moving back and forth.

Not wanting to disturb her work, Adrien leaned against the counter, patiently waiting for her to turn around.

She put the last of the dish in the drying rack, picking up the rack and turning around. Her eyes caught Adrien’s, and then the drying rack was falling, and so was Marinette, and there was quite a very loud crashing sound that Adrien felt  _ had  _ to reverberate through the whole house.

“Are you alright?” Adrien asked, running over to the other side of the kitchen to help her to her feet. She was sitting on the ground in much the same position she’d been in when the first met, and he again saw the hesitation in her eyes before she took his hand. But she took it in the end, her rough palm cold on Adrien’s.

When she was standing, she let go of his hand almost immediately, fixing the cloth covering the lower half of her face. She looked down at the kitchenware scattered on the floor, eyebrows twisted together.

“Marinette?” Adrien asked, and her eyes flicked back up to him. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

She shook her head.

“No one’s here,” he reminded, looking around the empty kitchen. “I think it’d be alright if you talked to me.”

Her eyebrows furrowed even further, and she looked away from him, crouching down to begin picking up the things that had fallen to the floor. Nothing was broken, thankfully - it looked like only pots, pans, and silverware had been in the drying rack. Adrien crouched down beside her, helping her right the upturned drying rack to begin putting the things back in it.

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” he said, placing a pot in the drying rack and hoping he hadn’t ruined Marinette’s perception of him forever.

She was silent for a moment, and Adrien was starting to think she would never answer, but then she sighed. “It’s alright,” she finally said, voice gentle and soft.

“You’re going to have to rewash all of these, aren’t you?”

She glanced over at him. “Yes.”

“I’m very sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“I can help you,” he suggested, and she looked over at him, her eyebrows at once furrowed and lifted in surprise and confusion, as if she couldn’t imagine him washing or drying dishes.

“That would be entirely improper,” she said, putting the last piece of silverware in the drying rack. She started to put her hands on the handles in order to lift it up, but Adrien waved her away. She raised an eyebrow, taking her hands away and watching as he gripped the handles and lifted up the rack, placing it on the counter by the sink.

The rack was astonishingly heavier than he thought it would be, and he was more than a little surprised that the small and dainty-looking Marinette had managed to lift and carry it with ease before she had been startled by him, but he wasn’t about to say so out loud. For one, he didn’t want to offend her in any way by implying that he’d imagined her to be weaker than she was, and for two, he didn’t want to seem like a flimsy noble to her.

“Considering that I was a cause for them to be rewashed, I don’t think it would be  _ that  _ improper,” Adrien said, and something about that made her laugh - a gentle sound, like wind chimes brushing against each other or the soft patter of rain on a stained glass.

“Mister Agreste,” she said, her eyes still filled with amusement, “you are  _ always  _ a cause for them to be rewashed.”

“Oh,” Adrien said, realizing she was right. “Well, I am the cause in a different way than usual. Also, I would feel terribly if I left you alone to toil through the night without even attempting to help you. It goes against a gentleman’s honor.”

Just then, Nathalie burst through the kitchen doors, holding a fire poker. Her hair was in a dissarray, and she was still wearing her nightgown. When she saw it was only Adrien and Marinette, she lowered the fire poker, looking between them both. “There was a loud crash,” she said, at once a question and an explanation for the fire poker in her hands.

Marinette started to bow, but Adrien stepped forward. “It was my fault. I dropped some pots and things.”

Nathalie eyed the two of them with suspicious, tired eyes. Finally, she sighed, pushed her hair out of her face and fixing her glasses. “Alright. But what were you doing in the kitchen in the first place?”

Marinette looked at him then, and Adrien realized he hadn’t actually gotten the chance to ask her what he came to ask. 

“I came because I was curious about the dinner menu for the party since I wasn’t told earlier today what it would be,” he said truthfully, but Nathalie still gave him a look like she didn’t believe him. She looked at Marinette, who dutifully cast her eyes down to the floor, her hands folded neatly in front of her.

“Your father hasn’t decided yet,” Nathalie replied, tearing her eyes away from Marinette. “It’s late. You should be preparing for bed.”

“But since I caused the clean dishes to fall to the floor, I wanted to help wash them-”

“Adrien,” Nathalie interrupted, crossing her arms. “It’s late.”

He knew what that meant. He didn’t know how long it had taken him to stroll down to the kitchens or how long he’d been there with Marinette, but undoubtedly his sickness would be starting soon. His shoulders sank. For the first time in a while, he wished he didn’t have the night sickness.

“Even so,” Adrien said, looking back to Marinette who was peering at him with curious eyes, “she shouldn’t have to stay behind and wash them again alone.”

“Then I will stay behind and help her,” Nathalie said, putting down the fire poker by the door and pushing up the sleeves of her nightgown. “You just get ready for the night.”

“Thank you, Nathalie,” he said, stepping away from Marinette.

“Goodnight, Adrien.”

She and Marinette walked over to the sinks after Marinette gave him a bow, and he started to go. Just before he left, he turned back to look at them, and he found Marinette already looking back at him. He nodded to her, and she nodded back, eyes warm.

  
  


\---

  
  


When Adrien arrived at the witch’s cottage that night, she was walking out the door, slinging a satchel over her shoulder. She looked at him for a moment, the both of them staring at each other as they stood on her porch, and then she began walking toward the lighted path that led to town.

“I’m going to town,” she called back to him, “you’re welcome to join me.”

Adrien hesitated. The times he’d visited the witch, it had always been at the cottage - save for that first time when she’d found him in the forest - but now she was inviting him somewhere else. It could be a trick, some sort of scheme to finally kill him after he’d begun to trust her.

He’d begun to trust her.

She was a witch, something he’d been told time and time again were simply vessels for evil and wrongdoing. She wasn’t supposed to be pretty or nice or make healing salves for old ladies or feed stray cats delicious food. 

“Are you coming?”

Adrien looked up. She had been waiting for him.

He followed after her.

The walk to town was shorter than he thought it would be, and soon enough they had reached the outskirts of town that was home to the small cottages and huts that the people lived in. The witch walked past a few of them, and then she stopped in front of a particularly decrepit house, if one could even think of it as such. She started to walk to the door, but Adrien didn’t follow, eyeing the mud on the pathway with disgust.

When she realized that he hadn’t followed, the witch raised an eyebrow at him. If he could blush, he would’ve. He followed her on the path, careful not to step in any mud puddles that were too deep.

The door opened before the witch could even knock, a woman bursting out and flinging herself onto the witch with a power that made the both of them nearly lose their balance.

“Goodness, it’s been too long since I saw you,” the woman said, pulling away from the witch as she laughed. “Those pesky nobles sure have you busy, huh, m-”

“Nothing I can’t manage,” the witch interrupted, and something in the woman’s face changed, her eyes flicking down to where Adrien was politely sitting on her crumbling wood porch.

Raising an eyebrow, the woman looked back at the witch, who simply shook her head. Adrien was perplexed - it felt like they’d had an entire conversation without saying a word he could hear. It must’ve been something in the witch’s face that had made the woman look at Adrien with such suspicious eyes. He was starting to question his foolish trust.

“Well, do come in Ladybug,” the woman said, opening the door so that the both of them could go inside. “And your little friend is welcome as well,” she said, looking down at Adrien with a smile. She had a kind face, but Adrien couldn’t shake the silent conversation she’d shared with the witch. He could be in danger.

Still, he followed the two women inside, jumping a little when the door slammed shut behind him. He was an idiot. A curious idiot.

Inside, the house didn’t look much better than the outside. The walls showed obvious signs of decay, and there were stains on the floors that Adrien didn’t want to think about too hard. It was small, too, and a little cramped. But despite these things, Adrien could tell that some effort had been made to make the house seem liveable. There was a rug that might’ve once been nice by the fireplace, and there were seats facing the fire that were quaint enough, if a little threadbare.

“I have the usual medicine you ask for,” the witch said, sitting down on one of the seats by the fire and rifling through her satchel to produce a small vial of a clear liquid. The woman took it gratefully, popping open the cork and downing the liquid in one go. “Alya!” the witch scolded. “You’re only supposed to take that when you have one of your migraines.”

“You caught me at a good time, Ladybug,” the woman - Alya - said, flopping down on the other seat next to the witch. “My head was making fantastic efforts to kill me after the day at work I had today.”

The witch’s frown melted into a look of concern, and she put her satchel down on the floor, shifting in her seat to better face Alya. “What happened?”

“I turned in that article that I had been working on for a while,” Alya said, playing with the empty vial in her hands as she glared at the fire. “You know, the one about you?”

“Let me guess,” the witch said, shaking her head. “Your editor didn’t put it in.”

“He didn’t put it in,” Alya agreed, the fire reflecting in her burning eyes, “that noble bastard.”

Adrien sat down in between the chairs, trying to understand. It seemed like Alya was a writer for the town’s newspaper, and it also seemed like she’d attempted to get the editor of the paper - a lesser noble of the town - to publish a piece she’d written about the witch. 

“I don’t mean to tell you ‘I told you so,’ but…” The witch trailed off, shrugging her shoulders.

“Oh, I know you told me so,” Alya said, waving her hand as if that fact didn’t matter. “I’m just upset because you deserve to have something about you published in the paper that isn’t some sort of noble-apologist nonsense. Everyone needs to see what good you’re doing.”

Adrien blinked. Normally he read the paper from the bigger city just north of them, but even so he remembered an article a couple of months ago that condemned all of the local exposed witches in the area, accusing them of crimes against something or other. It had all seemed horribly biased to Adrien, no matter what he thought of witches, and so he’d only skimmed through it. But he vaguely recalled a witch with the pseudonym ‘Ladybug’ on the list, her supposed crimes being undermining authority, the distribution of unsafe medicines and poisons, and the dangerous use of unsupervised magic.

She’d only avoid arrest because no one knew her real name.

“The people that need my help know they can come to me,” the witch said, shrugging again. “That’s all that matters.”

“But what about your name? Your reputation?”

“The name that dictates my reputation is perfectly intact,” the witch -  _ Ladybug, criminal -  _ said. “And besides, my reputation doesn’t matter as long as I can still help the people that need it.”

“I swear,” Alya said, shaking her head. “It’s like you’re  _ trying  _ to sound like one of the old saints.”

Instead of shifting uncomfortably like she’d done when Marguerite had made the same comparison a few nights ago, Ladybug simply snorted. “Yeah? And what about yourself? I know you give almost all of your salary away to the poor’s kitchen.”

“It’s a protest,” Alya said, sticking her nose up in the air. “I’m giving away noble money to the people they refuse to give it to.”

“Saintly, if you ask me.”

“Would a saint threaten to punch their editor to his face?”

Adrien’s head whipped over to look at Alya at the same time Ladybug gasped, a mixture of amusement and horror in her bright blue eyes. “Alya,” she said, the name coming out like a laugh, “you didn’t.”

“I did,” Alya said, looking rather proud of herself. “Of course, he threatened to fire me and blacklist me to all the newspapers in the country, which is  _ such  _ a noble thing to do.” 

It was strange. 

All of Adrien’s life, the word ‘noble’ had been a source of identity, a word to be proud of. Alya and Marguerite used it like an insult, a word spat from their tongues like it left a dirty taste in their mouth.

“He wants me to write a silly puff piece for some noble party that’s happening on the night of the Hallow’s Festival,” Alya continued, and Adrien’s ears twitched. “Apparently a noble-ling is looking for a bride.”

Ladybug shifted uncomfortably. “Are you going to do it?”

Alya shrugged. “I have no choice. Which of course means I can’t go to any Hallow’s Festival games or pass out lemon drops to the children or do anything _ fun.  _ I have to go to the stupid party.”

Ladybug was quiet for a moment. “You get free food,” she finally said, and Alya laughed.

“I’ll stuff all the fancy cakes and tarts in my dress before I go and leave them on doorsteps.”

“See? It’ll be fun for you.”

They left Alya’s home to stop by other houses so that Ladybug could give away her medicines, offering the occasional spell or piece of advice. Not once did Adrien see her accept any form of payment, not even from the houses that looked like they could afford it. Once, a small child pressed a bronze coin into Ladybug’s hands, and Ladybug had smiled and thanked him - but when the child hadn’t been looking, she’d slipped the coin into a pocket of the boy’s vest. When she’d caught Adrien staring, she’d simply winked.

After they’d finished going to all the homes that Ladybug had wanted to visit, Adrien understood why the people of the town said ‘noble’ like an insult. He understood why Alya lived in a crumbling home but still donated most of her salary to the poor’s kitchen. He understood why his father didn’t let him go to town on his own - afraid that Adrien would see all the parts he’d seen with Ladybug. All the houses that were begging for extra funds to fix roofs and porches, all the children with grimy hands and shoes with holes at the heels and toes, all the elderly with splintered canes and dirt embedded in the wrinkles on their faces, all the neighborhoods that were far removed from the sparkling, noble-sponsored shops on Main Street.

As they were walking back to the cottage, Adrien stared at Ladybug, at her rich red dress - a color for nobles - marred by charcoal stains and black patches sewn in with thick, meaningful stitches. 

She’d stood out among all the people she’d given her remedies to that night. All of their colors had faded, their clothes old and worn. And she’d stood among them, like the only thing alive. But it was a different alive than the bursting purples and gleaming greens that Adrien wore - those colors were always perfect, always devoid of a stain or even a speck of dust. Ladybug’s alive was marred. Imperfect.

“Did you sully your dress on purpose?” Adrien asked, and Ladybug stopped walking, looking down at him.

“You talk,” she said, although she didn’t seem as surprised by a cat talking than most people probably would.

“When I want to,” Adrien replied, and Ladybug tilted her head at him, warmth flickering in her eyes like a hearth on a cold night. He waited for her to answer the question he’d asked.

“Yes,” she finally said, “I did.”

“Why?”

“To look the part,” she said, and she continued walking. Adrien followed after, thinking about that.

_ To look the part.  _

What could that mean?

“Do you have a name you’d like to be called?” Ladybug asked, glancing down at him.

He could give her his real name, but he didn’t want to. For some reason, he didn’t want her to know who he was.

“Chat Noir,” Adrien said. “The name you normally call me.”

“You’re making it very easy for me.”

“I live to please.”

“That is one thing I never thought I’d hear a cat say,” she said, her voice a laugh.

“Perhaps you just haven’t met the right cat,” Adrien suggested, and Ladybug laughed again. Adrien’s heart jumped in response, his insides growing warm at the sound.

“Are you suggesting I’ve met the right cat now?”

“Perhaps.”

“Really now,” Ladybug said, shaking her head as they reached the clearing her cottage was in, “if you’d spoken sooner, we would’ve become friends a lot faster.”

Adrien blinked. “I’m speaking now,” he said, and Ladybug’s ruby colored lips spread into a smile that lit up the night.

“Quite right, Chat Noir.”

  
  


\---

  
  


He was friends with a witch.

This was his first thought when he woke up in the morning, gold sunlight streaming through the windows.

He was friends with a witch.

The thought wouldn’t leave his mind as he bathed, ate breakfast, started the events and studies of the day.

He was  _ friends  _ with a  _ witch. _

As he sat staring and not reading a book of philosophy written entirely in an ancient tongue, he shook his head.

“Is there something wrong, Mister Agreste?” his tutor asked, and Adrien tore his eyes away from the runes on the page.

It’s not like he thought there was anything wrong with being friends with a witch. Of course, a couple months ago the idea might’ve made him laugh - a by-product of being raised in a biased, noble household. But he was different now. The sickness had changed him, and meeting a real life witch had changed him.

The problem lied in the dissonance, the strange feeling of being friends with someone he wasn’t explicitly allowed to be friends with. He was friendly with the servants and guards of the house, but he never crossed a line into a friendship his father would disapprove of. His actual friendships were with people he only saw when they decided to visit the countryside and had become his friend because their parents wanted them to.

He’d never really thought too hard about the issue of his friendships before, but now it was all he could think about. He had never had any real friends he’d chosen for himself before, and now that he finally chose a friend, it was with the one person in the town that would make his father the angriest. 

There was something strangely soothing about the thought.

“Mister Agreste?” the tutor prompted.

Adrien blinked. “No, I’m sorry. I think I might just be a little out of it today.”

His tutor’s expression of concern melted into one of pity, and he told Adrien that the lesson was over, urging him to go sleep. Adrien wasn’t tired, but he wasn’t about to turn down an opportunity to skip through a rather borish lesson. Still, there was the issue of image to think about - he was supposed to be a gentle, scholarly young man despite the horrible sickness that plagued him.

He put up a rather pathetic attempt to change the tutor’s mind, but when she insisted, Adrien gratefully accepted without any further complaints.

With nothing else to do, Adrien retreated to his room. He spent a moment looking through his personal bookshelves, picking out a couple of old children’s anthologies he hadn’t had the heart to give away, and then he plopped down on his bed. He rested the books against his pillows and pulled the comforter around his shoulders, crossing his legs and hunching over as he opened up the first of the books.

The stories were all just old fairy tales - stories of giant men, tiny faeries, looming dragons, and magical shoes. Adrien really just skimmed through them, tracing the beautifully illustrated pictures with the tip of his finger. He remembered his childhood, when his mother made time to read the stories out loud to him before bed instead of letting the nannies do such a job. He remembered other noble women at dinner parties hiding their pinched faces behind fans to whisper to each other on how improper such an act was whenever his mother mentioned it.

In the smallest, most aged book, Adrien found a story about a witch. 

This wasn’t that uncommon, of course. Many fairy tales depicted witches, but they normally depicted them as the villains - the conniving, ugly, and black-hearted witch who ate children and stole babies and layed curses over countries. But this one was different.

Adrien frowned down at the title of the story, glancing over at the illustration of a beautiful woman reading a spellbook over a cauldron. She had long, dark hair, and her lips were painted ruby red.

_ The Benevolent Witch. _

Slowly, Adrien flipped through the story. He didn’t read through all of it, but the more he skimmed, the more he remembered. It was the story of a woman who lived in a corrupt village and discovered her own magic when she became enraged at the injustice surrounding her. When the village shunned her for her abilities, she retreated into the forest, still offering the people of the village help when they needed it. She became a hero and a friend to the people, and she lived happily in the forest inspiring those who needed to be inspired and helping those who needed to be helped.

Flipping back to the first page in the story, Adrien stared at the title, a memory pulling itself out from the back of his mind.

_ “But witches are bad,” Adrien had said with a confused frown, looking up at his mother. _

_ She smiled down at him, shaking her head. “Witches are just people, my love. And sometimes people are bad, and sometimes they are good.” _

_ Adrien frowned down at the illustration in the old book his mother had brought, staring at the pretty lady in the picture. She didn’t  _ look  _ evil.  _

_ “Do you want to read this story?” his mother asked even though Adrien could tell she really wanted to read it to him. _

_ “Alright, Mama,” Adrien said, and his mother smiled like she was relieved. _

There was a knock on his door, and Adrien snapped out of the memory, closing the book.

“Come in,” he called, and the door opened, revealing Marinette holding a tray with a tea cup, a teapot, and tea snacks on it. She was balancing it quite nicely, although from the rattle of the tea cup on its saucer, Adrien could tell her hands were shaking. 

For a moment, neither of them said anything, and he could tell she was looking his rather pathetic figure over. He cleared his throat, straightening his back.

“You can just set the tray down on the bed, if you’d like,” he said, shrugging off the blankets from his shoulders to turn and face the foot of the bed. Marinette bowed as best as she could, the tea cup still shaking on its tray, and then she put the tray down carefully on the bed. Adrien might’ve been imagining things, but he could’ve sworn she breathed out a sigh of relief. 

She started to pick up the teapot to pour out the tea for him, but Adrien waved his hand. “That’s alright. I don’t mind doing it myself.” She glanced over at him, eyebrow raised, but she still took her hands away, bowing once and turning to leave. “Ah, wait, Marinette,” Adrien called, and she flinched - not too noticeably, but noticeably enough.

Turning around, Adrien saw the way she carefully folded her hands in front of her and raised her eyes to look at him.

“You can… You can speak honestly,” Adrien started, turning to organize the books behind him so that he wouldn’t have to look at her while he composed his thoughts. When he finally turned, setting the books down beside him, he looked up to find her sharp eyes boring into him. “Do you dislike me?”

Goodness. He sounded like one of those quivering maidens in the books Nathalie liked to read. 

“You want me to speak honestly?” Marinette asked, her voice quiet and thoughtful.

“Yes, of course,” Adrien replied, bracing himself.

Marinette’s fingers twitched, like she was aching to fiddle them but was holding herself back. “I don’t dislike you,” she finally said, her eyes glued to the teapot. Adrien couldn’t help but sigh in relief. “I just find you strange.”

He blinked. “Strange?”

“Strange,” she said again, nodding once.

He shook his head, baffled. “Strange how?”

“Well…” She trailed off, shifting from foot to foot.

“You can sit down if you’d like,” Adrien suggested, moving the tea tray closer to him so that she wouldn’t have to sit so far away if she chose to sit. Something almost like a laugh burst out of her, and one of her hands went up to her face as if to conceal the noise - or perhaps a smile - but whatever it was she wanted to hide, it was already hidden by her cloth. “Why was that funny?” Adrien asked as she fixed the cloth.

“It was exactly what I meant by strange,” she said, shaking her head. “Does it not occur to you how improper it is for you to invite a servant to sit on your bed?”

“But you looked uncomfortable standing,” Adrien said, and Marinette half-laughed again, warm blue eyes shining with amusement. “Just to be clear,” Adrien said, leaning forward and pouring some of the tea into the cup, “you don’t dislike me, right?”

“Right,” Marinette replied, and she fixed the cloth so that it was covering a little more of her cheeks. “I’m just not sure how to act around you.”

“Like this,” Adrien said, feeling bold. He wanted friends of his own choosing, rules and propriety be damned. “I wouldn’t mind if you acted like this around me.”

“Mister Agreste,” Marinette said, blinking at him. “I didn’t take you as one to ignore the rules of the social hierarchy so blatantly.”

“Oh, who needs such outdated rules anyway?” Adrien asked, waving his hand, and to his delight, Marinette laughed again. “They are quite useless in the task of friend-making, I find.”

Marinette’s laughter died, and Adrien’s chest fell. He’d said something wrong again, he was sure of it.

“Friend-making?” she asked, voice quiet.

“Ah, yes.”

“Do you consider us friends, Mister Agreste?”

“I’m not entirely sure now, but I think you would make a fantastic friend.” She tilted her head at him. “And of course, if we were to be friends, you’d have to call me Adrien.”

Marinette blinked, and once again Adrien was afraid he’d said something wrong to make her opinion of him sour. But then her eyes squinted in such a way that made Adrien think the cloth was hiding a smile, and she bowed.

“I must be getting back to work now, but it was a pleasure talking with you, Mister Adrien.” She left. 

Adrien felt a surge of relief and excitement at once. He had made two friends all by himself with people he’d chosen to get to know, people he wanted to know more. He didn’t care about their birth or how much money they had - he just wanted to hear them laugh. And it felt good.

  
  


\---

  
  


The window by the sink had been left open. As Adrien jumped through it, landing deftly on the countertop, he hoped it had been left open for him. 

He got on the table, waiting patiently for Ladybug to appear from the little room separate from the main room of the cottage. He knew she was there because he could hear soft humming and the rustling of fabric courtesy of his heightened hearing in this form.

While he waited, he caught sight of a plain white cloth that had been left on the table as if Ladybug had simply dropped it there and forgotten about it. He walked over to it, sniffing the plain fabric. 

It was small, about the size of a handkerchief, but it had two strings attached to two of the corners, and it smelled familiar. 

Very familiar.

Ladybug came out from the back room, unwinding one of the twin braids that hung past her shoulders. “Good evening, Chat,” she said, combing her fingers through her hair and moving to begin unwinding the other braid.

The braids she was unwinding most likely would’ve been pinned up during the day. And perhaps the cloth would’ve been tied around her face, concealing her nose and mouth.

“You’re a servant,” he said, and she stopped, her eyes catching on the cloth on the table by Adrien’s feet. “For one of the nobles. You’re a servant.”

He’d never asked for her real name, and he’d never felt the need to. But now it was like he was dying to. He wanted to know which one of the nobles’ employees hid behind a servant’s disguise. 

She combined her fingers through the remaining braid, letting her hair fall free as she took the cloth of the table and stuffed it into one of the pockets in her marred red skirts. “We all have our day jobs.”

“I thought you despised the nobles,” Adrien said, shaking his head.

“I don’t despise them,” Ladybug said, her sharp blue eyes turned to the window instead of him. “They are just people. Some of them are bad, some of them are good.”

“Do you work for one of the good ones?” Adrien asked, but he wasn’t quite sure she would answer him, not when it seemed like she was holding her real name close to her heart.

She seemed to think. “Sometimes,” she finally said, and Adrien couldn’t really even think about what that meant before the door to the cottage burst open.

Alya barreled in, grabbing Ladybug by the shoulders. “I have bad news, and I have good news,” she said, shaking her a little bit.

“I’m guessing they’re both very important,” Ladybug said, guiding Alya to sit at the kitchen table so that she could sit across from her. “What is it?”

“Hey, Chat Noir,” Alya said quickly, nodding to Adrien. They’d met a couple of times since he had first accompanied Ladybug on a visit to her home, and Adrien had found that he liked her very much - she always took the time to say hello to him, even if she was in a rush to talk about important things. “Which news do you want first?” she asked, turning back to Ladybug. “Never mind, I’m giving you the bad news first; a noble has issued a reward for your capture.”

_ “What?” _

“Who?” Adrien asked, dreading the answer. He knew all the nobles in the local area, and he wasn’t looking forward to having his opinions of them sour even further.

“The big textile merchant. Gabriel Agreste,” Alya said, and Adrien was very glad that he was a cat because at least he didn’t have to worry about fixing his facial expressions.

Of course, he had to worry about literally everything else now.

“Why?” Adrien asked, fighting to keep his voice level.

“I don’t know,” Alya replied, pushing her hair out of her face. “He didn’t specify in the ad he bought that’s going to be put in tomorrow’s paper - that’s part of the good news, by the way.”

Ladybug pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a long breath. “How is that good news exactly?”

“You get tonight to prepare,” Alya said, and Ladybug groaned. “And it’s also good news because apparently Agreste doesn’t know your real name - no one does.”

“Except you,” Ladybug said, rubbing her hands over her face.

“And darling, I’m not telling  _ anybody.” _

“Still, I don’t want you to be in danger because of me,” Ladybug insisted, and Alya scoffed.

“No one even knows I know your name. They wouldn’t know to ask me.”

“Even so.”

“Do you want to know the other piece of good news?”

“What?”

“I am now ready and willing to take Gabriel Agreste on in a brawl.”

Ladybug snorted out a half-laugh.

  
  


\---

  
  


Adrien woke up before he’d even transformed back in the morning. Normally, he fell asleep in his cursed form and woke up human once more, but this day he woke up angry, his fur bristling. When the sun had risen far enough in the sky, his form changed, painful and violent. And even though he lost his fangs before his eyes changed, when he opened his eyes and saw the family crest hanging above his bed, he couldn’t help but bare his teeth.

As soon as he was able, he told one of the guards to run to town to fetch him the local newspaper.

“I thought you read the paper from the big city,” the guard said, and Adrien resisted the urge to snap, instead taking a deep breath and looking the guard over. He was familiar - it was the kind-eyed guard he’d seen so many nights ago.

“I do,” Adrien said, taking a deep breath. It was no use getting angry at someone who had shown him kindness before and didn’t deserve anger now. “But I have a feeling I’ll want to see the local paper today.”

“That makes sense, Mister Agreste,” the guard said, smiling and shrugging a little. “I’ll get it right away.”

As always, Adrien ate breakfast alone. 

Just as he was finishing up, the kind-eyed guard returned, a little red in the face and a little out of breath. “Here’s the newspaper you requested, Mister Agreste,” the guard said, bowing and offering it to him.

“Thank you very much,” Adrien said, finding that he was feeling a little more amicable after getting some delicious food into his stomach. “You didn’t have to run.”

“It seemed like you wanted it quickly,” the guard said. “And I don’t mind very much.”

Adrien tilted his head at the guard. “What was your name?”

“Nino,” the guard replied, smiling brightly and offering his hand. Adrien thought about shy Marinette and her hesitancy toward breaking the rules of the social hierarchy. He found himself smiling, taking Nino’s hand and giving it a firm shake.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“You, too, Mister Agreste,” Nino said, and Adrien shook his head.

“My friends call me Adrien,” he said, and Nino’s smile brightened.

“Well, then, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, too, Adrien.” 

It was so easy. 

Why didn’t he do things like this sooner?

“If you excuse me, Nino, I have important business to attend to,” Adrien said, arranging his silverware on his empty plate and standing. “But thank you again for grabbing the paper for me.”

“No problem, Adrien,” Nino said, waving his hand as if it really was no trouble to him.

Walking out of the dining room, Adrien unfolded the newspaper, searching for the ad. He didn’t have to search for long - it was on the front page, the font only a little smaller than the main headline. Nothing less for his father, of course.

As far as ads go, it was fairly proper: politely offering a large monetary reward for anyone who captured the witch called Ladybug and brought her to the Agreste mansion. But the awful implications of it made Adrien’s skin crawl, and the jovial mood Nino had put Adrien in had soon slipped back into the animalistic anger he’d begun the morning in.

When he arrived outside of his father’s study, he didn’t bother knocking, instead bursting through the door and slamming the newspaper on the desk in front of his father.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, stabbing his finger at the ad.

His father stared at the ad for a moment, as if reading it over for the first time, and then he put down his inkpen, standing to open the curtains before turning back to Adrien.

“It’s an ad I placed in the paper,” his father said rather calmly, and Adrien’s rage built up even higher.

“I already knew that, Father. I’m asking  _ why  _ you felt the need to place such a crude and immoral ad in the local newspaper,” he hissed between clenched teeth, and his father narrowed his eyes at him.

“Crude?” he asked, voice sharp.  _ “Immoral?  _ I placed the ad for your own benefit.”

“I never asked for you to do such a thing,” Adrien said, shaking his head. “How could the capture of a witch possibly help me?”

A space of silence stretched between them, and then his father sighed, sitting down in his seat and rubbing his hand over his tired face. “You know how, Adrien.”

Adrien shook his head. “No, I don’t, Father,” he said, but then his father gave him a look, and Adrien realized. The curse. His sickness. And then his anger grew even more. “You put an ad to capture a witch so that you could what? Cure me?”

There were a multitude of things wrong with this, and most of the issues his father didn’t even know about - like how he thought of the witch as his friend. And how he didn’t see his sickness as a curse. But even if his father didn’t know these things, it was still so  _ wrong. _

“Of course I did it to cure you,” his father said, his tone sharp.

“Couldn’t you have  _ asked  _ the witch instead of putting an ad for her capture in the paper like she’s some common criminal? If you had simply  _ asked,  _ she would be more willing to help,” Adrien said, throwing his hands up. Ladybug helped the people who needed it, but he had a feeling such ideals weren’t as powerful when she was being threatened.

“Have you lost your damn mind, Adrien?” Gabriel demanded, slamming his fist on the desk so hard the sound reverberated through the room, making the hairs on the back of Adrien’s neck stand up. “That witch  _ is  _ a common criminal. She is a danger to society, and she deserves to be captured. There is no such thing as benevolent witches.”

The phrase that had been stuck in Adrien’s mind.

_ There’s no such thing as benevolent witches. _

He remembered now. Why that phrase had been on repeat at the back of his consciousness, why it was so firm in his memory.

_ “Could you read me a story, Father?” Adrien asked, holding out his book to his father. He was a little bit too old to be read stories, but his mother was gone and the night was cold. _

_ His father looked up from the piles of paper on his desk, eyes red and hair disheveled. For a moment, it almost seemed like he would take a break from the work to read to Adrien. But then he saw the story Adrien had opened up the book to, his favorite story that his mother had read to him the most. _

_ Adrien saw the cold build up in his father’s red eyes as he stared at the illustration of the pretty witch standing over her cauldron. And then his father had snatched the book out of Adrien’s hands and thrown it into the garbage can by the desk, the sound making a hollow  _ thunk  _ that reverberated through Adrien’s heart. _

_ “There’s no such thing as benevolent witches, Adrien.” _

“You’re wrong, Father,” Adrien said, voice hollow. “All this time, you’ve been wrong.”

His father narrowed his eyes at him. “What are you saying, boy?”

Slowly, Adrien raised his gaze so that he was looking his father in the eye, steady and calm. “I’m saying that if someone captures her and brings her here, I’ll do everything in my power to free her from you.”

And with that, Adrien left the study, leaving his father behind to stew in the cold sunlight.

  
  


\---

  
  


Avoiding his father was easier than expected - mostly because on average, Adrien didn’t really see his father all that much. But still, a sort of dread gripped Adrien’s spine any time he had to leave his room to attend his lessons or go to eat. He didn’t want another confrontation, and he didn’t want to see his father until the threat of confrontation passed.

Of course, nothing went as well as expected in Adrien’s life, and so shortly after dinner there was a very large uproar in the mansion that made Adrien stop walking up to his room and start following the sounds of the clamor.

The sounds led him to the foyer of the mansion, where a crowd of servants and guards had gathered by the front doors. Nathalie came rushing down the stairs, dismay at the disorder evident on her face, and began calling for the crowd to quiet and remain orderly. When Nathalie had gained control of the crowd, it split apart to reveal the cause of the commotion.

Ladybug was standing in the foyer.

She was standing alone, her hands unbound, and her chin was held up high. She met Adrien’s gaze without an ounce of hesitancy or shame, her sharp blue eyes cutting through him.

It was so much different from how she looked at him as Chat - there was no warmth in her gaze. There was no familiarity or kindness. It was like she was a lone warrior facing a horde of enemies.

“I came to speak to Gabriel Agreste,” she said, and Nathalie shifted.

“Who escorted you inside?” Nathalie asked, but Adrien knew the real question.  _ Who captured and brought you here? _

“No one,” she replied, and Adrien saw her lift her chin up a little bit more. “I came of my own accord.”

Nathalie’s lips pinched together, and she nodded curtly. “Very well. Follow me,” she said, turning around to walk back up the stairs to lead her up to his father’s study. When she passed by Adrien, she leaned over, a light hand falling onto his shoulder almost as if in sympathy. “You better come along as well, Adrien. This concerns you, too.”

This was the confrontation Adrien had been avoiding, and it would no doubt mean bad news. He followed Nathalie.

On the way up to his father’s study, Adrien took Ladybug’s wrist as gently as he could, making her slow down so that they were walking a little further behind Nathalie. “You shouldn’t have come,” Adrien whispered to her as soon as he was sure Nathalie wouldn’t hear them if they spoke quietly.

Ladybug took her wrist away from his loose grip, frowning at him. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“I know,” Adrien said, running his hand through his hair. “But I’m telling you that it’s not too late to leave. If you turn around now, I can escort you back to your- well, I can at least escort you off my father’s property, and you will never have to speak to my father.”

Her frown deepened, her lips a red slash across her face. 

Before she could reply, Nathalie seemed to notice that they were lagging behind. She turned her head to glance at both of them, and she gave Adrien a warning look. Adrien clenched his jaw, glancing at Ladybug, who was still looking at him.

He really wished she would listen to him.

They arrived at his father’s study, and Nathalie stood a little behind his father while Adrien and Ladybug stood in front of the desk where his father was sitting. His father looked at Ladybug with cold eyes, looking over her long, loose hair and imperfect red dress.

When he said nothing, Ladybug spoke. “I do not know why you felt the need to call for my capture, but I have come here by myself. If you intend to harm me or my livelihood in any way, I cannot guarantee that I will be so civil,” she said, her voice calm and even. His father narrowed his eyes at her.

“Are you threatening me?”

“Only if you are a threat to me,” Ladybug replied, and his father’s face soured.

He stood from the desk, his slim figure cutting a line of shadow through the sunlight filtering through the window. For a moment, Adrien thought he was going to do something cruel, but his cold eyes simply bored into Ladybug, not that the witch seemed to mind. “My son is sick,” his father finally said. “I want you to heal him.”

“I will need to examine him,” Ladybug said, and his father nodded.

“Very well.”

There was a pause.

“Alone,” Ladybug prompted, and his father took in a sharp breath.

“Father,” Adrien said before his father could say whatever it is he wanted to, voice sterner than he felt.

His father looked at him for the first time since he’d walked into the study with Ladybug, body tense. Finally, he seemed to relent, sinking into his desk chair. “Whatever your findings, witch, they do not leave these grounds. This is to be strictly confidential.”

“Of course,” Ladybug replied.

“I’ll lead her to a place where she can conduct the examination in peace,” Adrien said before his father could make Nathalie choose the place. He walked briskly out of the study, hoping Ladybug was matching his pace, and led her to his own room. As he was shutting the door, he caught sight of Nathalie rounding the corner, no doubt having been sent by his father to spy on them.

When the door was shut, Adrien sighed in relief and Ladybug turned to him, taking a deep breath. “I don’t have all of my tools, but I’ll do the best I can,” she said, and Adrien blinked.

“What?”

“Sit down on the bed, please,” she said, ignoring him. He sat down on the bed, frowning, and she stepped closer, wiping her hands on her skirts. “Then, please excuse me.” She put her hands on his face.

Adrien reared back, confused and in shock from her cold touch. “Remind me again what is going on right now,” he said, and she raised an eyebrow.

“I’m conducting the examination for your sickness,” she said, completely genuine, and Adrien blinked.

“Seriously? I was going to help you escape.”

“But your father said you were ill.”

“And my father was also just extremely rude to you,” Adrien reminded, and she gave him a strange look.

“Even still. I would feel terribly if I left without at least attempting an examination.”

Not knowing how to respond, Adrien closed his mouth, looking up at her. She held her hands up, silently asking for permission, and he nodded. She placed her hands on his face once more, and again Adrien was shocked by how cold her hands were. And as she traced the lines of his face, pushing the hair off his forehead, he could feel the callouses on the palms of her hands and her fingertips no doubt born from a life of work. 

She held his face gently, cradling his cheeks in her cold hands as she turned his face from side to side. Her blue eyes were intense on him, and Adrien felt his heart beat faster as she moved her fingers to his lips, brushing over the sensitive skin.

Her face was so close to his now. He saw the splattering of freckles over her nose, and he could make out each one of her long eyelashes.

She lifted his top lip, tracing his teeth with her finger.

Adrien snapped out of his thoughts, making a face as pulled his bottom lip down to expose all of his teeth. “This is weird,” he said as best as he could with her fingers in his mouth.

“And necessary,” she replied, tilting her head as one of her fingertips pressed against the tip of one of his canines. “You have very sharp canines,” she said, taking her fingers out of his mouth and wiping her hands on her skirts.

“I never noticed,” he said even though he had. They had gotten sharper once his sickness had started.

Taking a deep breath, she gestured loosely at him. “If you could…” She trailed off, waving her hand at him.

“If I could what?”

Her face was starting to grow red. It looked like she was having great difficulty keeping her eyes steady on his. “For the examination,” she said, clearing her throat, “if you could, um, take off your…” She trailed off again, her cheeks now almost as red as her lips as she gestured at him again.

Heat blossomed on Adrien’s face. 

“You want me to take off my clothes?”

“Really just your shirt and vest,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears which were also a very nice shade of red. “For now.”

He’d gone along with the examination simply because she’d insisited, but he couldn’t take off his clothes for her. If he did, he felt like he would die of embarrassment, and that would be so terribly improper.

“Okay,” Adrien said, shaking his head and standing up, “this must stop now.”

“I don’t mean to offend you, it’s only-”

“I know your intentions are clear,” Adrien assured, stepping past her to cross to the other side of the bed where he was farther away from her and more likely to calm his thunderous heart. “But I really don’t need an examination.” He opened up the window, letting in a swirl of cold air.

“Your father said you were sick,” she said, looking at him like he’d gone mad.

“It’s less of a sickness and more of a curse,” Adrien replied, peering over the ledge of the window. It was a far drop down, too far to jump.

“That is not better, Mister Agreste.”

“Call me Adrien,” he said, looking over at the tree branch that was stretching toward his window. It was an easy jump for a cat, but for a human it would be too far and the branch wouldn’t be strong enough.

“Then, Adrien” - he really loved the sound of his name on her lips, and he kicked himself for noticing such a stupid thing at such a time - “you really must let me examine you. If you’re cursed, then there could be a danger towards your life.”

“I’m not dead yet, my lady,” Adrien replied, pulling the blankets and sheets off his bed. “Now come help me tie the ends of these together.”

Ladybug shook her head at him, as if she could see the effects of some madness curse taking him already. And then there was a knock on the door.

“Is the examination almost finished?” asked Nathalie’s voice from the other side of the door.

“No,” Adrien called, gesturing for Ladybug to help him with the blankets, “and Ladybug is insisting that she’s not interrupted again.”

There was a small space of silence, and Adrien imagined Nathalie’s lips were pinching together in her signature look of dismay. “Very well,” she finally said, and Adrien breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Come on,” Adrien said, and Ladybug finally crossed over to the side of the bed by the window, letting out a huff of indignation.

“Why are you so insistent that I leave?” she asked, picking up two ends of the sheets and starting to tie them together.

“Because I know my father,” Adrien said, finishing off a knot and moving on to the next, “he has you here for his benefit, but once you are no longer of use, he will have you arrested and locked up.”

Ladybug stopped, looking at him. “And you don’t want that?”

“Why should I?” Adrien responded, shaking his head. “You have done no harm to me or to anyone in this town. You are no criminal worthy of arrest.”

She started tying a knot again, although she moved a little slower than before. “You are quite different from the other nobles.”

“Perhaps it’s because I’m cursed,” Adrien said, finishing off another knot. “It gives you a different perspective on things.”

“If I tell you where to find me, will you come so that I can cure you of your curse?” she asked, and Adrien’s heart skipped a beat. She was so kind, her heart so beautiful. But even still.

“No.”

“Why are you so insistent on not being cured?” she asked, a hint of exasperation crawling into her voice.

“Because my curse is more a blessing than anything else,” Adrien responded, leaving Ladybug to finish off the last knot as he looked out the window. There was a guard walking patrol, and he paused to look up at the sky, breathing in the cold air and exposing his face to Adrien. “Nino!” Adrien called down as loudly as he dared.

Nino frowned, shielding his eyes from the evening sun so that he could see Adrien looking down at him. “Adrien? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Adrien said, “only that the witch will be coming down from this window in a moment, and I’m telling you that you should let her leave the property safely and without harm.”

“The witch?” Nino asked, and Adrien nodded. “But your father said-”

“I don’t care what my father might’ve told you,” Adrien said, running his hands through his hair. Of course his father had somehow informed the guards that the witch was to be captured in the event of an escape. “But I am asking you to let her go. I will explain if you ask later, but it’s urgent that she leaves quickly.”

“Alright,” Nino said after a moment of hesitation, and Adrien retracted his head from the window, grabbing one end of the rope he and Ladybug had made out of the sheets and tied it around his bed post.

“I’m sorry your method of escape is so crude,” Adrien said, tossing the rest of the bedsheet rope out of the window. “It’s the only thing I could think of.”

“How can your curse be a blessing?” she demanded, and Adrien threw his hands up.

“This is not really the time to be asking that,” he said, glancing back at the door Nathalie was no doubt still waiting behind.

“I’m not leaving until you explain.”

“Any moment we could be interrupted again, and your window of escape will have gone,” he insisted, but she crossed her arms, planting her feet and painting a very stubborn picture. He groaned. “Fine. My curse is a blessing because it frees me.”

“How can-”

“It just does,” he interrupted, opening the window wider and thrusting the rope into her hands. She opened her mouth again, and he sighed. “I really can’t explain, but my curse doesn’t hurt me. I promise.”

She stared at him, hands gripping the soft material of his blankets. “Fine. But if you find that you are in danger from your curse at any time, find Alya Cesaire. She knows where to find me.”

“Thank you,” he said, taking one of her hands and pressing a kiss to her cold knuckles. “For everything.”

She blinked, her cheeks growing red. “I haven’t done anything.”

“You’ve done more than you know.” He held onto her hand a moment longer, savoring the feeling of her hand in his, the mixture of her cold and his warmth. And then he let her go, stepping back. “Now go.”

Finally, she climbed out of the window, holding tight to the rope as she braced herself on the stones of the house. Adrien leaned out of the window, watching her progress with bated breath.

Halfway down, she paused, looking up at him. The wind combed through her long hair, and he could feel the intensity of her eyes on his. She was a vision in red, bright and alive against the cold white of the stone and the dark green of the grass below, and Adrien somehow knew that he would remember that image of her for the rest of his life.

She made it to the ground, and Adrien saw Nino turn his face away as she ran into the forest, pausing only once to look back at the window where Adrien still stood. He raised a hand in goodbye, and she copied the movement. And then the forest swallowed her, like it was welcoming an old friend.

  
  


\---

  
  


That night, Adrien visited Ladybug at her cottage as Chat Noir.

“I heard that you showed up at the Agreste manor,” he said, and she gave him a curious look.

“How did you find out about that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Adrien said, his tail flicking to the side. “Why did you do something so reckless?”

She looked up at the ceiling, tapping her cup of hot tea. “I wanted to show them that they cannot control me.”

“What would you have done if you had gotten caught?” he asked, shaking his head.

A smile fell across her lips, warm and secret. “But I didn’t get caught.”

When he left her to return to his house, he couldn’t get that smile out of his head. He dreamed that she gave him that smile and the kiss that was hiding behind it.

  
  


\---

  
  


The blowback for helping Ladybug escape was immediate, although Adrien must admit he wasn’t as affected by his father’s cold behavior as he should’ve been. He was tired of his father’s domineering and nonsensical rules, and because of his curse, he had tasted freedom each night. Now he was simply playing a game of waiting with his father - waiting for the conflict to blow over, waiting for his studies to finish, waiting to move into a house of his own.

In other words, not much had changed.

On the day of the Hallow’s Festival, Adrien went down to the ballroom to see how preparations for the ball were going. His studies for the day had been cancelled, and he wouldn’t have to get ready until later, and so Adrien passed the time by helping the servants put up banners or arrange tablecloths. At first, the servants refused his help out of propriety, but when Adrien made it clear he wasn’t leaving without helping anybody, they finally relented and gave him some things to do that required little skill and little effort.

He ended up carrying a tray of silverware over to the table where all of the finger cakes and cookies would be placed, and just as he was nearing the table, he saw Marinette holding a pile of lace doilies. She was hurrying past the table, not looking where she was going as she counted out the doilies, and Adrien saw the moment disaster would strike.

Her feet tripped over each other, and it was all happening in slow motion. He reached out to her to try and save her from falling, but the tray of silverware got in his way, and he tried to lift it without dropping anything, but the upward motion jostled the neat piles of silverware and a stray fork caught on the neat bow tied at the back of Marinette’s head, pulling at the strings keeping the cloth around her face.

Time sped up once more, and Marinette fell to the floor in a flurry of doilies and a clattering of loose silverware, and Adrien slammed against the banquet table, thankful none of the sweets were there at the moment because otherwise he would’ve smashed a great deal of delicious finger cakes. He put the tray of silverware onto the table and hurried to where Marinette was on the ground, offering a hand to help her up.

She took his hand without looking up, and Adrien pulled her to standing, his breath catching in his throat.

Her cloth had come loose and was hanging uselessly around her neck, and he was close enough to see the splattering of freckles across her nose. Her lips weren’t painted red like they normally were, but he knew the shape of them like he knew his heart. 

“Ladybug,” he breathed, so quietly that he was sure only the two of them would be able to hear. 

Her brilliant blue eyes met his then, wide and fearful, and then she was running.

“Wait,” he called, but she never slowed, never looked back. He started to run after her, but then Nathalie was taking hold of his arm and pulling him back.

“Adrien, it’s time for you to get ready,” she said, and Adrien shook his head.

“But she-” He stopped, not wanting to reveal her secret. “But I have to - I have to-”

“Someone else will bring her back,” Nathalie said, pulling him along and leading him away from the ballroom, away from Marinette. He tried to resist, but Nathalie was surprisingly strong, and she stubbornly tugged him to his room. “Do this one last thing for your father,” she said as she stood blocking the exit to his room. “I know you’ve never wanted to participate in this ball, and I know your relationship with your father is strained as of late. But please, Adrien. Do this last thing.”

There was a subtly desperation in her voice, like she knew Adrien was only waiting for the right moment to leave. He sighed. 

“Alright, Nathalie.” 

She gave him one of her rare smiles, and then she left, closing the door to his room so that he wouldn’t leave.

  
  


\---

  
  


The ball was all one big performance. He made small talk with noble parents and uncles and aunts, he danced with pretty noble misters and mistresses, and he ate his food pretending to taste it. He saw Alya hanging around the edge of the ballroom, talking animatedly with - strangely enough - Nino, who had been tasked to watch over the ball with a couple of other guards.

He managed to move his way over to them, smiling graciously to everyone he passed, and he offered his hand to Alya. “May I have this dance?” he asked, and she raised her eyebrows at him.

“I’m not one of the noble mistresses, Mister Agreste,” she said, glancing over at Nino.

“I know,” Adrien said, pretending to be patient, “you’re Alya Cesaire from the newspaper, right?”

“That’s right,” she said slowly, taking his hand and once again glancing at Nino. Adrien got the idea.

“I apologize for taking you away from him for the moment,” he said, winking at Nino.

“As long as you make this dance quick and drop me off near him, then I’m sure I don’t mind,” she replied, and Nino looked quite happy about that. Adrien smiled his first real smile of the night, leading Alya onto the dance floor.

“I just wanted a moment to speak with you,” Adrien admitted, placing a hand on her waist and taking her hand.

She gave him a look. “The party is fantastic, and I will only write favorable things for tomorrow’s paper,” she said rather bluntly, and Adrien couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, I don’t care about any of that,” he said, reigning in his laughter.

“You don’t?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, shaking his head. “I couldn’t care less about that, in fact. The real reason I wanted to speak to you is…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath. “I was wondering if you knew where Marinette was.”

She blinked and then narrowed her eyes. “Marinette?”

“Yes, Marinette.”

“Why are you asking?”

“Alya,” Adrien said, lowering his voice, “I know who she is. And I know that you know as well.”

Realization struck across her face, and then she was attempting to pull away from him, but he held her steady against him, putting on a smile so as not to attract any attention from the dancers around him.

“What do you mean to do once you find her?” she demanded, her voice a hiss.

“I only want to speak to her,” he assured. “I…”

And then he leaned down, and he told her the truth.

She gaped at him, her feet slowing to a stop. “You’re lying,” she said, and Adrien shook his head.

“Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know, but you’re lying.”

“Alya, please.”

He saw all of her conflicting emotions flit across her face, and while she decided what to do, he managed to pull her into dancing once more, moving toward Nino. 

Finally, she spoke. “I didn’t see her before the party started,” she said, and Adrien let go of her - they had reached the edge of the room. “But if she ran, then there’s only one place she would’ve run to.”

“The cottage,” he said, and she nodded. “Thank you,” he said, taking one of her hands a brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “Thank you so much.”

He couldn’t wait any longer. He’d made a show of participating in the ball enough to make a convincing argument that he’d tried, but he was tired of putting on a show. He was tired of performing.

One of the mistresses tried to catch him as he left the ballroom, but he told her that he needed to use the restroom, that he would come right back. It was a lie, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care, especially when the mistresses’ grip was so tight and her smile so fake. She was making a performance to care as well, and Adrien was only paying her what she was due.

He left.

The night was cold on his cheeks as he ran through the forest, and his breath made small clouds of warmth in the air. The sun slipped into the horizon, kissing the treetops as it went to sleep, and then Adrien was running on four legs, soft paws hitting the damp leaves on the ground.

There was no pain in the transformation, not like before. He was free now.

When he arrived at the cottage, the windows were shut and no cracks of light were showing through. The only light being shed on the house nestled in the clearing was from the moon, the stars, and the gentle yellow of the lamps following the path to town. Adrien stepped onto the porch, and he sat down right in front of the door. If it opened, he would be able to tell, and if she came to the cottage, she would immediately know he was there.

He waited.

Above, the moon was full.

_ But the moon never fails to come back, and she joins the stars in shedding light on all. _

This was no time for secrets.

“Guide her home,” Adrien said looking up at the moon, “guide her home so I can tell her the truth.”

The moon did not answer him, and he curled up against the door, shielding himself from the cold and closing his eyes. He’d wait all night if he had to. He’d wait a dozen nights, a hundred nights. His heart was full of something, something warm and unnamable, and he wouldn’t leave until he could see her, even if she decided it was for the last time. He just had to know.

He was awoken from an impromptu nap by cold fingers running through his fur and the rustling of skirts. Opening his eyes, he looked up to see her sitting next to him with her back leaning against the door, blue eyes staring up at the sky.

“A full moon,” she said, almost as if to herself, “I should’ve known.”

She was still wearing her uniform, and her face was devoid of any paint, but her hair was loose, and there were tracks of silver glitter over her cheeks, most likely from the Hallow’s festivities in the town. It made her face shine like the stars. It made her look like magic.

“The moon joins the stars in shedding light on all,” Adrien murmured, and she breathed out a laugh.

“Quite right,  _ chaton.” _

“I’m sorry,” he told her, and she shook her head.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes, I do.”

He wished he was human so that he could discuss everything properly, and then he was changing. It was strange - he’d never been able to change of his own accord before, but he was changing next to her, his fur turning to skin and his fangs turning to blunted teeth. It wasn’t painful, not anymore. He was free.

She had jerked away from him while his form changed, and now she was staring at him in disbelief, in fear. He looked down at his form, still dressed in the fine clothes of the ball, although they had gotten torn and dirtied in some places because of his sprint through the forest. He laughed then because he understood why she had purposefully marred her beautiful red dress with stains and patches.

_ To look the part. _

A noble devoid of perfections.

A citizen never quite reaching perfect.

“A-Adrien,” she stuttered, and he quit laughing then else he give her the wrong impression. “What- how-” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s been me this whole time,” he said, relaxing against the door and looking up at the full moon, the moon without secrets. “My sickness, my curse - it allowed me to change.”

“And you thought it was a blessing,” she said, her figure still tense, like she was afraid he would turn her in or expose her or something else as awful.

“Because I didn’t have to be myself anymore,” he said quietly. “Because I could leave that house without my face and without my name. Because I could meet you.” 

He looked at her then, and the unnamable thing in his chest swelled. He had to take a pause to steady himself.

“I know you’re afraid because I know your name now,” he said softly, gently. “But you’re my friend as Ladybug, and you’re my friend as Marinette, and I would never want to put you in danger.”

She shook her head again, but it looked like she was relaxing, like she could hear the sincerity in his voice. “I don’t understand how I’m supposed to act in front of you now,” she said quietly, her figure timid.

He stood, offering her a hand which she took after a moment’s hesitation. He pulled her to standing, guiding her off the porch and into the center of the clearing, the light from the moon shining down on them. “You can act however you want to,” he said, raising her hand to his mouth and pressing a kiss to her knuckles, “I love-”

He stopped. Her eyes widened.

His heart thundered in his chest.

_ It was the time for shedding light. _

He took a deep breath.

“I love every way you’ve acted in front of me,” he said, his voice soft, his lips brushing against her cold hands. 

“Oh,” she said, the sound quiet, and she was so beautiful, and she was glittering in the night, and he loved her. He loved her.

“I love you, Marinette,” he said, and she let out a breath like she’d been struck.

“It’s improper,” she whispered, and Adrien laughed, taking her hand and placing a hand on her waist, twirling her around until she was laughing too, the sound of her whispering wind chime and clattering teacup laugh filling the air like music.

“To hell with propriety!” he exclaimed, and she laughed even more, tucking her face into his chest and rubbing the glitter stars on her cheeks off on his vest.

“To hell with propriety,” she agreed, and her cold hands touched his cheeks, pulling him down and pressing a kiss to his lips, warming him up from the inside out. “I love you, too, Adrien,” she said when she pulled away, and she smiled at him with a thousand kisses waiting behind her lips, a thousand kisses waiting for him. 

“Being with you,” he said, heart giddy as he spun her around in the clearing of the forest, heedless of the cold, “is - and you must forgive me for this pun - like magic.”

“That was awful,” she said, and he threw back his head, laughing up at the sky. She pressed a hand to his cheek, and he looked down at her, taking in the shape of her lips and the stars on her cheeks and the blue eyes that gazed up at him so warmly. “But I find I must agree. It’s quite like magic.”

He kissed her again then, and he could feel the smile on her lips, feel his heart beating because he was in love, he was free, and he was  _ alive.  _

And, oh, how it felt good.

This was the only way he would live; he decided as he laughed and danced with the benevolent witch he loved. For now and forevermore.

**Author's Note:**

> if there are any unforgivable typos please forgive them because it is currently 2:34am and i have class at 8:30am and no way am i proofreading 19,691 words right now i'm sorry (EDIT: i have fixed probably all typos and unforgivable crimes against sentence structure. word count now falls at 19,682)
> 
> anyways i started this at the beginning of october because i thought it would be a fun little side project from bt to post something spooky-ish for halloween and, as always, it got very out of hand. if you can believe it, i ended up leaving a lot of my original ideas for this fic out because it was getting very long and halloween was fast approaching and you know on google docs this baby is 48 pages long and i was starting to get very exasperated with my own hubris
> 
> if you're wondering how i managed to write 48 pages/19,682 words in less than 30 days in my spare time while being a full-time university student with a pretty decent social life, that is a fantastic question and i also would love to know the answer. maybe i'm just stubborn
> 
> thank you for reading i love u goodnight


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